That was two months and a lifetime ago. I resumed my duties at St. Stephen’s, Maggie left for parts unknown, a little sadder, perhaps a little wiser. As for Cain, he’s decided to stick around for a while, claiming that Omaha’s pace suited him just fine. I think he wants to stay near me, to see if I hold the key to the forgiveness he seeks. I don’t have the heart to tell him that he should seek forgiveness from within. I doubt he’d listen anyway; he’s got a blind spot the size of Montana when it comes to introspection.
The newspapers and other media never followed up on the “big” Missing Heir story. Cain thinks the Sicarii are licking their wounds, keeping their collective heads down. I think they’re truly afraid, perhaps for the first time ever. Good, they should be.
Sometimes, late at night, I think about why God sent an angel to save one, lonely, corrupt man and I remember what Cain said to me recently, that He uses a screwdriver, not a sledgehammer. Maybe God knew that young Olivier needed a push in the right direction, all so he could make the decision to save millions of people from Earth’s fury and return Primal Water to where it belonged. Maybe.
Whatever you may think of Olivier Deschamps, he did try to do some good in this world.
And in the end, that’s about all anyone can ask.